“I do not relish insults,” interposed Legira coldly. “The government which I represent is composed of men who are honest and sincere. They have the interests of Santander at heart.”
“All right,” agreed Ballou. “Suppose they do. They want money, too. Five million dollars. They won’t sneeze at that, will they? You’re up here, asking for ten million. How much of it you intend to hand over is your own business, not mine. All I’m here to tell you is that you get five million. Not a nickel more!”
“I intend to deliver any money that I may receive to the government of Santander,” declared Legira. “If — as you believe — I am to receive ten million dollars, all of it will go to the right men in Santander. But I do not have ten million dollars. I may never have it—”
“You’ll get it!” interrupted Ballou, rising impatiently. “Ship it to Santander on any boat you want. I’m telling you that the minute that money leaves New York, it’s lost to you. Understand? Split here, and we’re quits. Try to slip one over on us, you’ll lose all. We’ve got things sewed up—”
BALLOU stopped abruptly. He turned and strode to the door. He stopped there and waited for Legira to speak. The consul said nothing.
“We’re giving you ten days,” declared Ballou, in a final tone. “We get our half then. If we don’t—”
“Well?”
Legira’s question was a cold interruption.
“Then we get the whole business,” added Ballou. “I know plenty about matters down in Santander, Legira. You’re too wise to put any stock in that tinhorn government you call official. I figure you’re out for what you can grab.
“You’ve pulled a neat one here in New York. Pulled it to the tune of ten million dollars. Divide it by two, and you’ll be about right. Santander’s the only place where you can jump.
“Your official government” — Ballou’s words were sarcastic — “will be a joke alongside of the unofficial when it comes to a pinch.
“I’m laying the cards on the table. We want five million. We’ll let you have five if we get five. If you try to take all ten, we’ll tip off the tough boys in Santander. There’ll be a revolution, pronto. Five million for us, five million for the revolutionists.
“So take your choice, Legira. If you want five million — for yourself or your official government — you’ve got your chance for it now. Otherwise, it will be ciphers for you. That’s final!”
“It is very late, Mr. Ballou,” said Legira wearily. “I suggest that you leave now, so that you may report to the persons who sent you.”
“No one will know who sent me,” growled Ballou. “You’re not going to play with us, eh?”
“I am spending my life in work — not in play.”
Ballou was momentarily disconcerted. Then he shook his forefinger angrily at the quiet, leisurely man who faced him.
“Ten days,” he said. “That’s the limit!”
Francisco was coming up the stairs; Ballou turned away and met the servant, who escorted him down to the ground floor. Legira could hear the gruff voice mumbling from below.
Lopez came slinking from the closet. He looked at Legira in both admiration and concern. The consul paid no attention to his secretary’s expression. He was smiling grimly, and now a soft, scheming chuckle came from his lips. He pointed to the telephone. Lopez brought it to him.
Legira held one finger on the hook; the other hand kept the receiver close to his ear. There was a dull sound of the front door closing.
Softly, Legira called a number. A voice responded after a few moments. The consul appeared to recognize its tones.
“This is Legira,” he said. “We will try our plan tomorrow. Proceed immediately.”
RISING, Legira stood before a mirror, surveying his own countenance. Lopez was peering over his shoulder. Legira smiled as he noted the contrast. His own face, despite its suave expression, was scarcely an unusual one, like that of Lopez. The consul continued to stare, while Lopez looked on, wondering.
Legira motioned, and Lopez followed him into a dark front room. Together, they peered from the window. Pete Ballou was standing on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. A late cab swung into view. The ex-visitor hailed it, and rode away.
A moment later, Legira nudged Lopez as the form of a man showed on the sidewalk opposite.
“Martin Powell,” said Legira, in a low voice.
The investigator stalked away into the darkness. Both men watched. They saw no one else. A short exclamation came from Lopez as he gripped Legira’s arm. Then the secretary laughed sheepishly.
“I thought that was some person,” he said. “A person that was walking there from over the street. It is not one.”
Legira, looking, observed a fleeting shadow as it flickered beneath the glare of the lamp outside. Then he lost sight of it as he peered toward the darkness of the alley opposite. Had Legira watched the blackish shape, he might have seen it momentarily assume the form of a living man as it neared the side of the house.
The consul returned with his secretary to the room with the shuttered window. Again, Legira stood before the mirror, with Lopez peering from beside him.
Minutes rolled by. The drawn shade fluttered slightly, as though the shutter outside had been opened by an unseen hand.
Legira did not notice the movement of the shade. Nor did he see the long, narrow shadow that had appeared upon the floor, stretching from the window to his feet. Instead, Legira turned to face Lopez.
“It will not be difficult,” was his cryptic remark. “Not very difficult. It would be so if I were you, Lopez. Very difficult then, perhaps.”
The secretary appeared bewildered. Legira laughed knowingly. He strode from the room, leaving Lopez wondering. Then the secretary followed.
The window shade fluttered. There was a slight, almost inaudible noise. The shutter was closing. In the blackness, on the wall outside the house, a figure that clung like a mammoth bat, began a downward course, pressing close to the projecting stones.
The form was lost in the darkness below. It appeared momentarily in the light near the front wall of the house. A tall man, clad in black, was revealed a moment; then his figure vanished in the night.
Only a low, soft laugh marked the strange departure of this mysterious personage. The figure was invisible as it drifted across the street and stopped near the entrance to the alley opposite.
The Shadow, man of the night, had been searching here. Shrouded in darkness, he had observed the departure of Pete Ballou. He had witnessed the approach of Martin Powell. He had spied upon Alvarez Legira and his secretary, Lopez.
Now, at the entrance of the alley, he detected the presence of “Silk” Dowdy, the hidden watcher. Unseen, unnoticed, The Shadow slipped away into the dark.
CHAPTER V
THE EYES OF THE SHADOW
ONE week had elapsed since the eventful night when Alvarez Legira had swung his ten-million-dollar deal with the New York financiers. Seated in the secluded room of his residence, the consul from Santander was talking with his thin-faced secretary, Lopez.
“Ten days, was it not?” questioned Legira smoothly. “Let us see — six have passed. There will be four more.”
“Yes, senor,” replied Lopez. “It is four more days. Yet you have done nothing, senor.”
“Nothing,” returned Legira, with a smile. “Nothing, Lopez, yet I am not worried. I had expected some change before this evening. However” — he shrugged his shoulders — “tomorrow is another day.”
“You have some plan, senor” — Lopez spoke in a cautious voice — “some plan that you have not told to me. Is it not so, senor? Why is it that you have not spoken to me?”